Endless Dream
by OutspokenSilence
Summary: It is never a good idea to be too sure of anything. Walter/Henry. Rated M. for possible later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The James/Harry fanfic has been put on hold for a little while as I have huge exams coming up over the next couple of weeks.

I hope this keeps some Silent Hill man-luuurrrve~ fans satisfied for a little bit, as I am sure I will only have time to type up more of this story&some of Alex's Diary over the next month or so.

Sorry, guys

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_It is never a good idea to be too sure of anything._

A loud knock woke Henry from his strangely peaceful slumber. For weeks, months even, he had found it impossible to sleep more than a few minutes before waking in a cold sweat. His gaze moved over to the clock by his bed, which was flashing a rather annoying 4:30 am at him. His brows furrowed as he turned, attempting to fall back asleep. It was the weather, it was Eileen moving next door, it was something everyday. Although, the brunet couldn't help but feel a little on edge. His life had only just returned to something which could be seen as 'normal' a few days before, and the whole apartment block still felt strange. Especially Room 302.

It seemed like an age before a similiar sound echoed through to the bedroom. That definately wasn't coming from outside, so that ruled out the whole idea of the weather. henry decided to investigate, if the only conclusion he drew was that Eileen was doing something next door. Much, much stranger things had happened this early in the morning before, and the brunet didn't particularly want to rule any answers out.

He managed to sit up a few seconds later, swinging his heavy legs over the side of the bed. His balled-up fists moved to rub at tired eyes as his journey to the sitting room started at a snail's pace. Why rush? It was far too early to move any faster, and there was no imminent danger to his wellbeing. Taking such leisurely steps was like a perfect dream, his body still aching all over from his constant sprinting in that disgusting place. No amount of physical or mental help could stop the pain, but he and his neighbour had learnt to live with it.

The noise sounded once more when Henry took his first step out of the bedroom door. It stopped him in his tracks, where upon his hand move to push back a few rogue strands of hair. If he didn't know any better, he would say that it sounded like someone was trying to get his attention by knocking on the door. This early? A familiar sense of dread travelled through his body as he remained stock still. That door. He still felt nauseous whenever he had to unlock the entrance to his home, whether it was to friend, mere acquaintance or stranger. Sometimes he worried that the next time he turned the handle to leave, the door would lock him inside the deathly claustrophobic apartment he occupied. It was truly the stuff of nightmares.

Another rap, this time each knuckle sounded one by one. There was someone at the door, and that knock sounded sickeningly familiar. His breath hitched in his throat as his feet seemed to stick to the floor. They were persistant, they did not want to leave. Another knock. Could Eileen not hear this? The brunette rang him at any times when she was scared of noises, or suffering from bad dreams. The two of them found comfort in each other, but not now. His companion was sleeping peacefully in the next room. No, Henry had to be brave, it wasn't as if anyone dangerous would be hanging around The Heights. It wasn't exactly the best part of town, but the main doors were pretty hard to get past without a key..

Again, twice more. That was when Henry sprang into action. It was more irritating than anything, but his chest still felt constricted. Everyday tasks, like opening doors or visiting the bathroom had become major feats for him. He was scared of what might happen, he was scared that he would wake up and find this part of his life was all a dream, that he was back in the Otherworld. A shiver ran down his spine as tiny steps brought him to the front door. The peephole was centimeters away, yet Henry daren't open his eyes to get a better look.

Before whoever it was had a chance to slam their fist against the door again, Henry opened his eyes and looked through the peephole in a fluid motion. The bile rose in his throat, sending him reeling backwards, clutching his hand over his mouth as he used the wall to steady himself. Sick. He felt physically sick. The throbbing headache was the least of his worries, even as it seemingly attempted to drive through his skull. This dream was not going to end.

Walter Sullivan was standing at the door.

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You know the drill.  
R&R because I write these for you guys. 8D

OS.


	2. Chapter 2

New chapter already? Yes, being sick has its advantages. Heh.

To SPG107: I made this chapter a little longer just for you. Reviews like yours make my day. Also, thank you very much for the good luck message.~

To SadandLonelyOne : Here is your sequel.~

.....I wouldn't have been able to write this without Emilie Autumn's fantastic music. Much love goes out to her.

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Henry had only needed to catch one glimpse of that familiar face for his mind and body to switch into overdrive. What was happening right at that moment was impossible, yet far stranger things had happened concering Room 302. The knocking had stopped, yet the pounding headache told him that the unwanted guest was still standing in the hallway. His first, rather distorted,thought was to dive straight for the trunk which had held all his weapons before.

The lid opened with a rather delayed creak as Henry tugged lightly on the corners of the heavy wood. A quick scramble inside brought up nothing but books and photo albums, items which were less than useless. An agitated groan left his lips as he let the top slam shut, narrowly missing his outstretched fingers. There was a small moment of panic when he found himself at a loss of what to do, before he scurried over to the other side of the room. If this didn't work, then he knew that his chances of survival would come hurtling down to zero.

That hole in the wall had never quite been covered, neither of them had truly wanted it that way. It had come up in conversation in one of the winding hallways of the apartment block, and Eileen had just laughed it off. The brunet mentioned nothing about checking up on her through the tiny gap in the plaster, as their friendship had started on the worst of terms already. However, various late night talks had taken place through the coin-sized hole, and it was one of their many means of communication. Neither of them enjoyed travelling too far from their rooms past certain times at night, as the darkness to them held far more than shadows..

All he could see through the tiny hole was darkness, with the vague shape of Eileen lying across the bed. At least she was in, that gave the man a little of much needed comfort. His hands pressed against the wall as he leant further forward, his back aching from the straight. Crouching, or even sitting, would seem to much like resting when a psychopath was waiting outside. This had to be quick and well played, or his whole idea would backfire right at him.

"Eileen.." he hissed, hoping to target part of his companion's subconcious. All she had to was wake up and listen to what he had to say. With his first attempt, the brunette didn't even shift in her sleep. Nor did she with the second, or the third. His stomach was twisting itself into tight knots the longer he waited for her to reply. Minutes of nothing, filled only by the pounding noises inside his own head, caused an irritated growl to leave his lips. The fear was slowly seeping from his being, replacing itself with something far less ordinary. Stranges surges of anger ran through his body once he pushed himself away from the wall.

Sullivan was meant to be dead, dead and buried. If that man didn't leave soon, then Henry would do whatever he could to rid him from the hallway. Eileen was alone, deep in sleep and all too vulnerable. The killer was too close, and Henry was the only one who could stop him continuing a few more paces to the next room. Vaguely shaking steps brought him back to the large white door, his hands brushing against the frame before stopping on the handle. One or two turns from the inside unlocked the door and let the inhabitants out into the real world, yet his fingers seemed to stick to the metal. For all he knew, the man out there could have been armed. In a the few seconds it would take Henry to open the door, Sullivan could have loaded and be pointing a gun right at his head.

Practically ripping his hands from the door handle, the brunet took another look through the peephole. His headache intensified as the man's gaze met his, those piercing eyes unblinking as Walter stared straight ahead at the door. Did he have any idea whether Henry was inside? Perhaps waiting it out would make the other leave, although, that was a rather childish way of looking upon things. If you can't see me, I can't see you, you'll go away if I just don't look at you. Henry shook the thought from his mind before his hand trailed to open the door once more.

His hand's path was stopped by a muffled noise from beyond the wood. The fingers of that hand curled into a loose fist as he waited for the sound to repeat itself. Talking, yet it just sounded like the same few words again and again. There was no need to check for the owner of the voice, that deep rumble was recognisable instantly. Walter was speaking to the door, or perhaps to Henry himself. The occupant of the room stayed still for a few more awkward seconds, the words finally becoming clear.

" It's..not..over..yet.."

The sentence was repeated much louder the final time, the door rattling startlingly on its hinges as it was tugged roughly from the otherside. He was trying to get in, and Henry did the only thing he could think of in a moment of blind panic. He threw himself against the door, pushing heavily from the inside. The lock mechanism could not function under so much stress, so no one could possibly get in or out. That was Henry's logic anyway as he leant his full weight against the flimsy piece of wood. The anger which had been bubbling only moments later had once again reverted itself to an insatiable fear.

Henry Townshend was unarmed, weak, and a serial killer was forcing his way through the door.

The equilibrium of pressure on either side of the door kept it in place for only a few seconds longer, before the locks let out a horredous cracking noise and splinters of wood flew past his ear.

Walter Sullivan was in Room 302.

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......Oh dear.

R&R plz.

OS.


	3. Chapter 3

These chapters keep getting longer and longer. That's a good thing, right?

Anyway, the idea for this chapter came to me in middle of the night, annoyingly, and it didn't turn out quite how I wanted.

Ah well, enjoy.

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All Henry knew was that he was in extreme pain. His headache had increased to a blinding level, and it took all his might to remain pressed against the wood of the door. His futile efforts did nothing however, and the door swung open as if he wasn't even there. He found himself falling to the floor like a rag-doll, his hands clinging to nothingness as his face pressed against the rough carpet.

He was aware of a presence behind him, heavy footsteps causing the floor to vibrate underneath him, but his body felt numb. There was no escape from whatever was to happen to him now, and his stomach lurched at the thought.

A loud thump, and then nothing but darkness.

The weak city sunlight pooled in from underneath the blind, stinging his uncovered eyes. It took a few seconds, but eventually Henry sat up with a gasp. He was in a bed, and not just any bed, but his own. This was the exact position he had been laying in before the noises started, the ones which had brought about the most terrifying nightmare the man had ever had. That was all it had been though, a bad dream.

Eileen would laugh at him about how terrified he had been, but not in a discriminating manner. Their relationship was built over their unbreakable fear of Sullivan returning, and so the two of them were as close as possible, without being romantically entangled. Even if she did find his plight amusing, the two of them would still sit on the sofa and talk about it. He would wrap his arms around her and they would just sit, basking in each other's company. Neither of them dared to ask the question that was at the front of both of their minds.

_Do you love me?_

He shook his head slightly, trying to rid the thought from his head. There was more important things to do, like make sure that Eileen was still eating. His companion's weight had steadily dropped ever since they had returned from the world beyond the hole, and Henry would be lying if he said he wasn't incredibly worried. The brunette meant the world to him, and he didn't want her to end up in the hospital again.

Hospitals,forests,large buildings, they all filled Henry with a sense of dread.

However, the feeling which welled up inside him once he exited his bedroom was indescribable. His fingers rested against the doorframe as he glanced down the hallway, having a plain view of someone sat in the main room. Beige trousers and a blue coat. There was no need to look upon the face, or even get a closer look at the clothing. That had been no dream, bad or otherwise, the encounter at the door had really happened.

The blond was sat right at the center of the couch, staring down at his knees. He only looked up upon hearing Henry's approaching footsteps. His lack of expression was far more terrifying than his usual little smile, and the brunet found himself glued to the spot. How was he meant to act with a psychopath in his home? There was no way of getting rid of him, as Sullivan was far taller and stronger than him. Henry just waited for the other to speak, which he duly did.

"You're awake."

Walter's deep, husky voice made Henry gulp all too loudly. That statement couldn't have sounded less caring if he had tried. Once again, the absence of emotion made this sickeningly awkward. In the following silence, the brunet's gaze moved down to the ground, as Walter's eyes felt as if they were boring straight into him. As he did so, something else became suddenly apparent to him. The clothes he was wearing were not the ones he had been wearing when he had collapsed previously. Infact, these clothes were not instantly recognisable. That must have meant that...

"Sullivan, why are you-"

Henry had just found his voice when there was a light rap at the door. Of course, his attention was suddenly shifted to the entrance to his apartment. All the air in his lungs left him, causing his chest to seize up. Chains. There were chains on the door. They were even attached in the same way as before, blocking his escape, or someone else's entry. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he powered forward, tugging uselessly at the indestructible metal. This wasn't happening, Walter wasn't sat a few meters behind him, and he was still sleeping.

His attempts at escape were interuppted by the door infront of him opening with ease, the vision of the chains warping as someone stepped into the room. Eileen. Her body passed straight through the metal, as if it wasn't there at all. The few steps Henry had taken backwards in confusion were reversed, and he moved to stop the woman from moving further into the room. A shaking hand gripped her thin arm, perhaps a little _too_ roughly.

"Henry?" she questioned, trying to pull herself away, the pain apparent in her large green orbs. The bag she held in her hands nearly fell to the floor as Henry let go just as roughly, with a quiet apology.

"Get out, Eileen, it's not safe. Sullivan's..." he trailed off, having glanced behind him at the chair mid-sentence. It was empty, and there was no sign of anyone being sat there. A look of pure disbelief moved onto his features as he stared at the spot for another few seconds, selfishly hoping that Walter would reappear just to prove his point. However, there was nothing, not even a sound, except for Eileen setting her bag down on the kitchen counter.

She did not meet his gaze as he looked back at her, merely going about her job of unpacking some items from the paper bag. This was not the first time the two of them had suffered such an awkward moment, but Henry felt incredibly foolish this time. There had to be a way to remedy his embarassment, but he was at a loss of what to do.

"He was-"

"I got your groceries." Eileen stated, interuppting Henry's desperate sounding exclamation. She did not look angry or displeased, just a little worried. Her eyeline moved to the bottle of milk she held in her hand, before her eyes finally flickered up to look at the man. A weak, caring smile reached her pale lips. "It's your turn next week, okay?". That was a question, but she obviously did not expect as answer, as she paced back over to the door as soon as she spoke. Her hand hovered over the handle, just as Henry moved to stop her from leaving.

"Eileen, please I-"

Once again, she didn't let him finish, or rather, he trailed off once he noticed her expression. Out of the two of them, Eileen looked the most troubled. Her fingers curled around the door handle as she stared down at the floor. Another long silence followed, before she glanced up at her companion. "Try and get some rest, okay? You were up most of the night." she said quietly, before excusing herself from the room. Her exit was as simple as her entry, the blockade seemingly invisible to her.

Henry was left stood by himself in the middle of the little hallway as the door shut, the chains rattling just to prove their existance. He remained there for a little while, the whole scenario replaying in his head. No matter how he thought about it, none of this made sense. It was with a long, shaky exhalation of breath that he moved into the main room and sat down heavily on the couch. The murderer had been sat there minutes later, and the cushion below him was surprisingly cold. Deathly so.

He was not shocked when footsteps sounded from the hallway leading back into the main room. The conversation with Eileen had left him feeling numb and drained, and just a little angry. Even the other side of the couch sinking when it became occupied did not phase him. Instead, he just stared straight ahead. Maybe the brunette was right, he did need to rest. This whole thing had to be caused by a lack of sleep.

"Receiver, look at me."

The brunet became aware of a sudden pain pulling at the corner of his mouth, yet there was nothing there to cause it. His hand moved to touch the skin of his cheek, but it felt no different from normal. He was imagining all of this, Walter and the strange pains passing through his body.

One quick glance most certainly couldn't hurt.

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R&R plz.

OS.


	4. Chapter 4

To SPG107: Your review made me so happy. I've never recieved one that long/nice before~! Thank you very much. As for the James/Harry fanfiction, as I said, it _has_ been postponed but I may manage to update it some time next week. I just don't have the drive to write more at the moment, as school work and other projects have stolen my interest. I'm sorry about that, but I will try and get some typed up soon.

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It took Henry far longer than expected to build up the courage to stare into the killer's eyes. For all he knew, that could have been the last thing he would ever see before his life was taken. The thought made him feel just a little ill, yet he drove on, knowing that he could find some weak point in Walter's logic. The other man was well and truly insane, but it would take just a few words to rid him from the room. He needed Eileen there to persuade the blond to leave, as she always knew just what to say. However, that would be impossible, she already thought he was seeing things.

"Why couldn't Eileen see you?".

That seemed the most obvious question to ask at the time. The brunette had just passed straight through the metal chains and into the room as if there was nothing wrong at all. Henry's eyeline moved further down as the look in the blond's eyes was making him uncomfortable, before it rested on the other man's neck. He had never been so close to the during the daylight, for obvious reasons, so he had never managed to get a close look at him. The sight made him visibly retch, and he covered his mouth as he turned away.

The top button of the high-necked duffle coat was undone, and Henry's eyes had been attracted to the deathly pale skin all the way across his neck was a thick, deep red scar, surrounded by bruises and dried blood. It was disgusting, there was no other word for it. Sullivan seemed to notice how Henry had reacted just at the last moment, for his hand moved to run along the scar as he gave his reply.

"Miss Galvin? She must not believe in Mother's power."

If Henry hadn't been so on edge, he was sure that his jaw would have literally dropped. Did that mean that Walter thought that Henry believed in that 'God's' power? That was a ridiculous statement, even coming from someone as unstable as the man in the blue coat. Maybe if it hadn't have been _him_ sat right there, Henry would have broken into nervous laughter. This was all becoming too much, he needed to get out.

He got up slowly, tapping his left cheek as he did so. It still stung, like he had been injected with something, but there was nothing. There wasn't even a ridge of a scar, or the lump of a bruise, it just felt normal. Henry moved with calm steps, which surprised even him,as he entered the kitchen. Steady hands searched the drawers and cupboards for anything that could cause even a little gap in the chains. Anything. Even as he felt Walter walk up behind him, he continued his feeble quest for anything strong enough.

Not only was there nothing remotely powerful enough, but there were no sharp objects anywhere in the room. No knifes, no forks, even the scissors were missing. There was nothing he could do, and instead of feeling hopeless, he felt far more angry. Why him? Would this never end? The brunet had watched people die, cheated death himself, and killed the man standing just behind him. However, nothing seemed to be able to remain as intended. His fingers curled round the edge of the kitchen counter, gripping onto the metal of the draining board with white knuckles. He forced his eyes shut, his body tensing and readying itself for whatever was about to happen.

"Just do it." he hissed, his body beginning to shake violently as he attempted to stay standing. Henry didn't want it to end like this, he wanted to die of old age, live the rest of his life out with Eileen. He had no idea how it would feel, even though he had witnessed other people drawing their last breaths. It all depended on how fast Walter wanted to do it. Would he draw it out? Or just put the brunet out of his misery? Whatever he was going to do, Henry knew he could never be one-hundred percent ready, no matter how stoic he seemed.

The hand which rested on his arm caused a quiet gasp to leave his lips, although he kept his eyes tightly closed. Walter was going to toy with him, try and give him a false sense of security before going about his 'business'. That must have been how he treated all his victims, and the thought made Henry's legs almost buckle underneath him. The blond must have noticed the slight movement, because his other arm moved to wrap around Henry's stomach. The shorter male's stomach twitched uncontrollably as his eyes flickered open. There was truly no escape.

"Do what?"

It must have been Henry's mind playing tricks on him, because to him, the other male sounded genuinely confused. If it wasn't his mind, then the blond was the one messing with him. The hand resting just above his navel was cold and clammy, causing goosebumps to appear on the skin under his thin shirt. The strange signals running through the man's body only made him more irritated that Walter was just stood there, and he was sure that the expression of his face would have been the same as usual. Dazed, either that, or a little smile would be gracing the blond's lips. This whole situation was getting more and more annoying by the minute, as Henry's mind had persuaded him that it was not meant to happen this way. Walter wanted to kill him, and that was that.

Henry's brow furrowed deeply as his hand gripped onto Walter's, practically ripping it from his stomach. With the momentum, he found himself facing, or rather, looking straight at the other man's chin. There was perhaps a two centimetre gap between the two of them, which Henry had practically closed with his angered movements. It was with a quiet gulp that he lifted his head to read the other's expression. No matter how infuriated the brunet got, the taller man's icy blue stare always made him shrink inside himself. He was definately not the brave knight-like figure that Eileen thought he was. Not once in the Otherworld had he ever known what he was doing, he had killed the monsters from rushes of adrenaline and fear, the same with Walter.

"Kill me."

He turned his head away from the other, the gap between them still not increasing. His voice had come out far less forcefully than expected, sounding more like a child talking to an adult. It was the way the younger Walter Sullivan had talked to him by Toluca Lake months previously. Henry's thoughts were interuppted by a rather dark chuckle, one which he had heard so many times while running blindly through pitch black corridors. A rough, heavy hand moved to touch his cheek, in the exact spot which Henry had been pressing earlier. The light, cold touch sent a sudden stream of pure agony running across his face and a loud groan left his dry lips.

"Reciever, it most certainly isn't that easy. I need you to live."

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R&R plz, as usual.

OS.


	5. Chapter 5

Oh gosh, don't you hate it when you know what you want to happen in the next few chapters, but not the one you're writing?

...anyway, enjoy.

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_"Reciever, it most certainly isn't that easy. I need you to live."_

The mere mention of his given name made Henry's stomach lurch. He had never expected anyone to refer to him in that way again, his 'duty' as a Sacrament was complete. His mind had suddenly gone blank, the other man's hand having left his face. It still hurt, but now it had turned into a dull ache. There was still no explanation for this phantom pain, except that Walter's prescence was altering the fabric of his being. Although, it was inconceivable how one man could cause pain just by being present. He just couldn't think of any other reasoning, nor anything for that matter.

It didn't take even a small amount of thought to realise that he needed to get further away from Walter. They were so close that their bodies were almost fully touching, and Henry found himself pressing roughly against the kitchen counter just to create a larger gap between the two of them. It was with a quiet grunt that the brunet pressed his hands against the taller man's shoulders and pushed. The other just staggered backwards, not even tensing up at the touch. Walter wasn't trying to keep Henry in place, or use force to keep him quiet. Was it because he knew he couldn't escape?

Henry only took a few steps across the tiny kitchen before he felt woozy. The air was getting increasingly stuffy in the room, and there was no way of altering that fact. No matter how hard he had tried, ever since he had returned from the Otherworld, the windows would not open. Even the Superintendant and Eileen had tried, with no results. They had just attempted to shrug it off, blaming it on something caught on the other side, or other equally weak ideas. It was obvious to Henry that Room 302 would always be cursed, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. Especially not _him_.

"I don't..understand what you're saying.." he told the other, not wanting to turn and face the blond. His head was literally swimming, and there seemed to be no break in this relentless nightmare. The floor creaked slightly as Walter shifted on the spot, causing Henry to glance behind him without thinking about his movement. All that happened was he met the gaze of the killer, one which looked oddly saddened. Not wanting to look any longer, Henry turned back and stared down at the floor. Did Sullivan really expect him to believe this?

"Reciever, you don't look well."

Again with that name. Despite how 'out of it' Henry felt, that statement made him grit his teeth in frustration. If it had been anyone else, he would have merely shaken the comment off, said he was fine, or told them he was getting better. He was definately not going to give Walter the satisfaction of a friendly answer, and instead he finally raised his voice.

"So what? What are _you_ going to do about it?"

He still refused to fully face the other, but another creak that emitted from the floorboards told Henry that the other was moving. It was most probably a nervous reaction, the type you only got when you were unsure how to reply. However, once the small rush of adrenaline had left him, the brunet was the one who felt on edge. That had been a ridiculous thing to say, and he did not want to hear the answer. Practically dragging his feet, Henry moved out of the kitchen area, as far from the blond as possible. The fact that Sullivan had still not spoken was getting terribly unnerving.

"Perhaps.."

The mumbled word caused Henry to stop in his tracks. Perhaps what? It seemed that no matter what he did, he would have to listen to what the other had to say. Even if he tried to deny it, part of him was intrigued as to what the blond might say. Some sort of understanding of his mindset might make it simpler to rid him from the apartment. It was definately a long shot, but Henry was finding himself getting more and more desperate.

"Perhaps I could look after you."

If Henry had been drinking, that would have been the exact point that he would have started choking. Instead, he just turned to face the other with a look of pure disbelief. The thought of it was making him feel even less healthy, and he shook his head firmly. He found himself acting differently infront of the man, as he had no idea how to emphasise his points in a way that would sink in. Both he and Eileen had found out the hard way how determined Walter Sullivan was, and how hard it was to disuade him from a path.

"Mother would want it that way."

All he wanted to do was for the blond to stop talking and leave. He didn't care what 'Mother' wanted, or even what Walter wanted. If Henry had found himself having such selfish thoughts around anyone else, he would have felt terrible for days. With Walter, there was no hint of regret over his thoughts. The blond needed to leave, Henry just couldn't take looking at him anymore.

Most of all, the crippling pains needed to stop. Henry could feel his body going cold, and his breaths kept searching for oxygen that wasn't there. However, there was something keeping him from falling to the floor and just giving up. It was probably a mix of the supressed fear and pure hatred towards the man standing on the other side of the room, with a little bit of defiance. He had suffered much more terrifying experiences, and something like this was not going to get the better of him.

"Shut up.I don't care."

It was simple enough a statement, but Henry had been holding it back ever since Walter had first mentioned his Sacrament name. Quite frankly, Henry just didn't want to know why the blond had come into the apartment anymore. All he wanted was to be left alone, or for Eileen to see what was truly happening.

This nightmare just had to end.

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Go Henry.

OS


	6. Chapter 6

The amount of reviews I'm getting for this and 'Promise' are mind-boggling. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed on both stories, I love you guys. Seriously.

I might also start taking requests for short drabbles about your favorite Silent Hill ( or maybe Repo!) pairings. I've been in such a 'writing mood' over the past couple of weeks, it's ridiculous.

No matter how fun it is writing this, Promise and Alex's Diary, some little side projects would be a welcome break.~

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Nothing could have prepared Henry for what happened next. An odd, eerie,calm had spread across the room after his little outburst, with only his own heavy breathing filling the silence. It was far too quiet, even the sounds of the daily traffic outside seemed just a little bit subdued, like someone had just turned down the volume dial. Even it was a scream, or a equally angered comment, the brunet was mentally begging Walter to say something. The sickening silence only seemed emphasised when someone walked past the room. Their footsteps were louder than both of their breaths combined.

Henry's eyes were fixed on the blond, as Sullivan was now the one staring at the ground. He truly looked like a child who had just been scorned by an adult for doing something against the rules. It was the same look he had seen on child Walter's face moments after meeting the boy with the almost cherubic face. There was a strange moment where the brunet actually found himself feeling remorse for what he had eventually done to that child, but it was forced to the back of his mind as the man in blue made his move.

The killer still didn't speak, but just made his way over to the door. His grubby hands rested on the white paint, leaving rather disgusting smears of red and black as he did so. If Henry hadn't been so afraid what wrath he might incur, he would had ordered the man to step away from the door. Instead, feeling rather on-edge, he just stayed incredibly still. He did not want to force Walter to act on a whim, as Henry had already escaped death too many times. It was the sudden rattle of chains that directed his gaze to the door, an almost hopeful feeling fluttering in his chest. Was this it? Was Walter really giving up so easily? That was a pathetic notion, but it was one that he clung onto over the next few seconds.

"Would you rather I brought Miss Galvin in here with us?"

For some reason, that question started another splitting headache. He tried to ignore it however, watching the blond's every move. The man was staring out of the peephole, ducking his head slightly to do so, his fingers clinging onto the long metal chains. So that was why the footfalls outside had been so light, it meant that Eileen had just returned home. That was just another reason to add to his list, the one which was driving him to rid this apartment building of the malevolent phantom known as Walter Sullivan.

"You wouldn't dare." Henry practically grunted, one hand moving uselessly to the side of his head. The prescence of those disfigured victims had always created this symptom in him before, yet the Walter stood infront of him looked perfectly human. Of course, the trademark wounds were there, the huge gash across the taller man's throat and even a slice across the man's right cheek which Henry had caused himself. However, Sullivan seemed well and truly alive, just as he had done during his travels to the Otherworld. The brunet didn't even want to consider the option that the hauntings were starting to reappear again.

A chuckle made Henry's confidence sink to a seemingly impossible low. That laugh forced him to take a precautionary step back, even though it's creator was stood on the opposite side of the room. It was the stuff of nightmares,something which should have been so heartwarming was turned into something terrifying as it left the killer's lips. The brunet found him at a loss for words, even as the blond started lumbering towards him. Horrible memories of that hospital flashed through his head as another backwards step caused the back of his legs to crash into the coffee table.

What was that saying? The only thing to fear is fear itself?

His mind was moving onto anything, philosophical statements, things Eileen had told him, articles he had read, anything to stop him from collapsing right there and then. The dull sounding footsteps on the thick carpet were getting closer and closer, until Henry could smell the metal-like stench of blood emitting from the taller man. It was something he had not picked up on before, being more preoccupied with pushing the other away, yet it made him feel even more nauseous. That was when he came to a sudden decision. If this was going to be the end, Henry was not going to go down without a fight.

The headache was fluctuating between a slight pang and a horrendous pulsing sensation which left Henry feeling weaker than ever. It wasn't until the man reached out for him, large hands brushing past his thin sleeves that the brunet managed to move. For Henry, it felt as if a switch had been flicked, as his reflexes suddenly sprung back into action. In a sort of blind panic, the shorter man did the first thing that sprang into his mind. It was a rather fluid movement, his knee raising and hitting the other man through his thick coat, before he darted under the outstretched hands.

That had been a mistake of course, as Henry found the other was only pained for a few seconds. Holding in his breath, as if it would make any difference to his situation, the fact that he was unarmed once again became apparent to him. It was once Walter started moving that the brunet turned and began scrabbling around for anything he could use as a weapon. He nearly tripped over the tiny coffee table, grabbing onto the couch for support, before his other hand moved to grab at the lamp which was standing next to the chair. An almighty tug ripped the already worn down cable from the wall, letting the lamp fall smoothly into his now outstretched hands. However, by the time his plan had been completed, rough hands had grabbed at his shoulders. The ice-cold grip almost caused him to drop his one mode of defense, yet pure determination made his own grip tighten.

In a perfect world, none of this would have been happening. If Walter had turned up, he would have been disuaded by a few calm words from the brunet, disappearing back into the hellhole he had journeyed from. Still, Henry knew that his life would never be one which could be deemed as normal, not after the mental damage he had acquired from those _situations_ in the world beyond the hole. He would be the first to admit that his mind didn't work the way it should do, but that did not mean that Walter could take advantage of that fact. The other man was just trying to get him angry.

A rather well-timed swing knocked the blond sideways, before he had a chance to utter the word which Henry had sensed forming on his lips. Instead, it just came out as a grunt as Walter fell backwards over the table, a couple of magazines sliding onto the floor after him. Instead of letting the other stand back up, Henry lifted his leg and kicked the man's side with a sickening crunch. It was a horrible way of thinking, no better than the blond laid on the floor, but this was a little enjoyable. He was finally getting the better of the one thing which should have stayed as far out of his life as possible, rather than barely managung to knock the other over before his wounds got too painful.

He should have realised that rendering the other powerless could never have been that easy. A large hand wrapped itself another his ankle, threatening to pull the brunet down to the floor. Another thoughtless reaction caused Henry to drop the lamp, right onto the other's neck, the bulb shattering. The noise which emitted from Walter's mouth was revolting, and Henry could only describe it as a choked gurgle. He didn't dare look as the pieces of glass lodged themselves into the other's man skin, his stomach turning at the thought. What was he doing? Harming someone in such a way had never been in his disposition before, and it was little frightening.

He was considering trying to clear up the wounds before forcing the other to leave, even though in his mind he knew that Walter had been through worse, when a trembling voice sounded from the doorway.

"Henry, what are you doing?"

The look on her face told Henry that she had been there the entire time.

* * *

That chapter took TOO LONG.

OS.


	7. Chapter 7

I apologize for the FAIL.

This was a little rushed, I admit, because I wanted to upload something before I stop getting on the computer for a while. It will be a few days at most, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting. Heh.

* * *

Henry didn't dare move. Even without looking, he knew that Walter Sullivan was no longer lying comatose beside him. The only things which had graced the carpet were a few torn magazine pages and the newly shattered lamp. Once again, it was as if the blond had never even been there, as if he had fabricated his whole existance. If that was the case, and this was all in his mind, then why had the other seemed and felt so real? No amount of brain power could literally create a human being from nothing.

Before he had a chance to explain himself, no matter how pathetic his reasoning may have sounded, Eileen was taking small steps across the room. As she approached him, Henry waited for some sort of readable expression, but the brunette was refusing to look at him. Instead, she just crouched down next to the broken fragments of the lamp and began scooping the glass into her hands. Physically unable to help her clean up, Henry just stared down at the woman. If he hadn't known any better, he would have said that from this angle, it looked like she was about to cry.

"You need to be more careful, these things are fragile."

It was evident from her tone of voice that Eileen wasn't angry, although the words sounded almost muffled. Henry should have expected no less from his companion. She had never once lost her temper infront of him, or ever let her irritation be known. The brunet knew how his searches for reassurance would eventually cause anyone else to grow tired of him, yet Eileen would always offer her help. Sometimes it felt like the beautiful brunette had been sent just to become some sort of guardian angel, someone who would _always_ be there.

His thoughts were stopped by Eileen walking away from him, into the small kitchen. Not once had he managed to catch a glimpse at her face, or recieved any signals to confirm his suspicions. In his mind, it was as if the brunette was ashamed of him, yet that wouldn't be the case. Perhaps the adrenaline rush from his encounter with Walter had sent his brain into some sort of overdrive, or the strange feeling in the room was getting the better of him. All he wanted was for his companion to say something, anything, about what she had actually seen. He no longer cared how it made him look, as Henry just needed to know the truth.

"Henry, maybe you should.."

Maybe he should what? Henry found himself taking a couple of steps towards the woman, trampling on the carpet which Walter's body had once been laid across. There were inumerable ways of completing that sentence, and he found that most of them were running through his head. The most obvious one was that Eileen wished for him to leave Room 302, and move into a different room. If the brunette had finally caught a glimpse of Sullivan, then she would have also been in a state of shock. She had suffered so much more at the hands of the killer, and Henry's plight seemed almost unreasonable in comparison. The mere thought of how distraught she may have been, caused Henry to move a little further across the room. Maybe he would have to comfort _her_ for a change...

"Maybe you should go to the hospital, I'm worried about you."

Those words had never even passed through his mind. Of course he was shocked, stopping suddenly in his journey across to the kitchen. Part of him longed for that to have been a mistake, or that he had heard it wrongly. Even if that had been emitted from the brunette's pale lips, he needed some confirmation. Did she really mean that? If she did, then surely that meant that she still couldn't see Walter or the chains stretched across the door. She couldn't see the things which Henry was so very scared of, and she had only seen one side of the struggle.

"W-what?" was Henry's weak reply, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. There was no way that any of this had just happened, or at least that was what he was trying to tell himself. This could all have still been some sort of horrific dream, and his body could have still been sprawled somewhere in the Otherworld. That idea had not completely been forgotten, yet it was beginning to feel more and more unlikely. It was all too real, even the sudden surges of pain and emotional switches were too unpredictable. He was well and truly losing his mind.

Eileen did not reply straight away, as she attended to the glass in her hands. It was dropped into the empty trashcan, the shards bouncing off the sides of the plastic before falling to the bottom with alarmingly loud crashing noises. The sound sparked another reaction in Henry, forcing a dull pain to run up his spine, but he attempted to ignore it. There was something very wrong, and it needed to be fixed. Whether it was his mind, or just a problem caused by a bad dream, it needed to be repaired. Henry just couldn't carry on living in fear of an _invisible_ enemy.

"You can't carry on like this Henry, you're...you're imagining things.."

It was almost as if the other had ripped the words straight from his mind, but it didn't alarm him. Infact, the whole concept of him imagining Walter was in the room made him a little bit angry. What part of his subconcious would ever wish for a murderer to return? Despite his previous thoughts on the matter, Henry had now sucessfully persuaded himself that this was all really happening. The blond man had been in the room, and he had fought him. Any pains he was suffering weren't fake, they were caused by the man's prescence. Nothing could tell him otherwise, and he knew now that Eileen was spouting nonsense.

"Eileen you just don't understand. He was right there!"

That was a rather immature way of responsing, and he hadn't really wished to raise his voice, but his point needed to be proven somehow. The only reason that Eileen would lie about the events would be to cover up her own fear, and maybe even confusion. Even though the brunette could pass through the chains easily, that didn't mean that the killer was just a figment of Henry's imagination. It was without any real thought that the man turned his head, glancing down the hallway which lead to his bedroom. For some reason, it was almost exciting to see that the blond was sat by the door to the bathroom, just out of Eileen's sight.

He heard a light gasp sound from behind him as he set off down the hallway. The shock of looking upon the killer had been replaced by some sort of numb tingling which spread across his palms. Henry continued slowly, a little afraid of what he was about to do. Eileen's confused statements and questions went ignored as he stopped, within touching distance of a serial killer.

Walter was sat stock still, with his knees brought up to his chest in what could have been viewed as a defensive manner. There was no way that Henry was going to fall for any tricks, or give the man any sympathy, even as he noticed blood seeping from between the blond's fingers. The man in the coat's hand was resting against his neck, at the very spot which the brunet had dropped the lamp. It was revolting, the way the crimson liquid just trickled through the gaps, landing in small drops onto the blue fabric. No matter how many times Henry had maimed a creature,or even the man sat infront of him, he could never get used to just how easy it was to bring blood to the surface.

The shorter man turned away slightly before finally raising his voice. He could feel eyes boring into him, although it wasn't as strange a feeling as when Walter had first entered the room. It was almost as if the look the blond was giving him was not angered, but far more bemused. He refused to look. Henry was sick of the weird aches and pains which shot through him whenever he glanced upon the other. All the brunet had to do was bring the man back to Eileen,as he knew that he could not harm her in such a state. Walter's wound did not seem to be healing as fast as expected.

"Get up, Sullivan." Henry ordered, getting ready to repeat himself a second time. Their skirmish had changed nothing, Walter was still far more powerful and stubborn. It seemed that nothing could get in his way, rather like an angry child. When the other didn't immediately spring into action, the brunet opened his mouth to utter the order again, still not meeting the other man's gaze.

A grunt and the sound of rustling clothing finally made everything clear. Henry Townshend was the one in charge.

* * *

That took far too long to get out, sorry.

OS


	8. Chapter 8

I apologize in advance for the fail.

People didn't like bossy!Henry and wanted Walter to stay, so here we go.

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"Henry, stop it, please."

His authority was shattered by four simple words, spoken by the one person in the whole world he knew that he could trust. Once glance finally told him that Eileen was on the verge of tears. She was staring straight past him, right at the killer, but the look of her face told Henry that she saw absolutely nothing. To her, the hallway was empty except for the brunet whispering under his breath in some sort of angered manner.

"Eileen, I'm sorry. Maybe you should just leave."

There was no hint of that being a question. All he needed was to be left alone with his inner demons, who were now going by the name of Walter Sullivan. Even though the brunet knew that this was how it had to be, right at the back of his mind, he still felt cruel for sending Eileen into an emotional frenzy. Despite being a strangely placid individual himself, he knew how little it took to upset others.

Part of him wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her that everything would be alright, but where would lying get him? Nothing would be 'okay' until he managed to rid himself of this malevolent phantom who was watching his every movement. In some sick little way, it was as if the blond had truly become his displaced shadow.

A quiet noise left Eileen's lips. Henry could not place exactly what it was, whether it had been a sob or a comment, but he had no time to relay it in his mind. The brunette left in a hurry, letting the door slam roughly behind her. Only a split second later, the chains reappeared and rattled against the vibrations. It seemed like this metallic noise caused a strange reaction in the younger male, as he spun round to face his blond counterpart in a rather odd motion.

As if, when he looked back, the other would be dead on the floor once more.

No such luck. The blond was stood there, clutching onto his seeping neck, with a look reminiscent of a lost puppy. It was pitiful, and Henry just didn't want to see it. No matter how sad or pained the other looked, Henry knew it was all just an act. A murderer couldn't feel remorse, or any true emotions, after destroying the lives of so many people. That just wasn't right.

At a loss for any real words, Henry just gestured towards the door. The killer could read it any way he wanted. The brunet wanted to be outside, he wanted Walter to leave and he wanted the chains gone. Just one of those would have been enough to pull the heavy feeling from his chest. All he truly needed was to escape and apologize to Eileen, if she would let him explain.

"I can't."

For a reply, that was completely pointless. Henry was in a right mind to shake the blond until he gave him an understandle answer, but that would have got him nowhere. Nothing he did to the killer was permanent, apart from that steadily bleeding wound. There was still far too much blood for it to have started to heal properly, yet Walter said nothing on the matter. He just stood there like some sort of serene sentinel, an almost apologetic look in his eyes.

"Mother determines who leaves this place, and those who enter. This is a sacred place, Henry."

It only took a mention of the 'Mother' for Henry to regain his voice. Before raising it however, the brunet traipsed over to the couch, leaving the killer stood stock still in the center of the hallway. Although Henry could still feel the other's gaze on his back as he searched amongst the books piled on the small table, he did not stop in his miniature quest. This was far too important. Unintentionally, a rather odd tingling sensation had caused a slight smile to reach his lips.

He could have mistaken that feeling for a sort of inane excitement.

What he was looking for had not been moved or even looked upon for the months. However, the item was one of the most precious of his family's belongings, handed down for generations. Henry had been in two minds to sell it to purchase something more useful, but his parents had persuaded him otherwise.

_The_ _Holy Bible is the most important book in anyone's collection_, they had said. It seemed strange that it was at a time like this that Henry finally understood their words of wisdom. None of the disgusting creatures and scenarios he had encountered in the Otherworld could have been caused by a God. That was beyond every comprehension of exactly what a deity of that sort was created to be.

Was a God not meant to be a loving and caring creator? One who would protect those who were suffering in times of need? Henry had never been a religious man, having focused solely on getting by in the world on his own, yet he envied those who had faith. Faith in a _righteous_ God.

His fingers curled around the leather-bound book after an age of searching. This was all happening so fast, and in such a haphazard way, yet Henry was trying desperately to keep a level head. Even if he got nowhere with his new plan, at least he could have the satisfaction of proving something to the killer. Perhaps then the collapse of this whole 'Mother' fantasy would sent the blond from the room, back to the depths of hell.

"Sullivan, I want you to read this."

There was no need to increase his volume for the other to hear. During his search, Henry had become aware of the other approaching at a steady pace. He did not turn to find the exact whereabouts of the man in the coat, but instead just held the book out behind him. The weight was lifted from his palm almost instantly, giving Henry what could have been a slight sense of relief. He had expected the man to recognize it immediately and refuse to fetch it.

Either that, or he had expected the cold barrel of an unused gun to tap the back of his head. Henry was not convinced that the other was unarmed, as that large blue coat could have been concealing any sort of weapon. If the blond did indeed have murderous ideas in his mind, as the shorter man expected, he would hiding them far too well. The only feeling that Henry was receiving from him was that he was perhaps a little scared.

That thought was soon just dubbed as his own fear amplified. The sound of turning pages gave him the strength to finally turn and look upon the other as he read. Neither of them uttered a word as Walter's fingers graced the pages, running along the lines in a way that a child would take in the letters, his mouth moving as the words obviously formed themselves in his head.

This calm only lasted a few moments, before the rather alarming silence was broken by the blond's deep voice. After the incredible lack of sound, this was strangely comforting. The words which issued from Walter's mouth certainly came as a surprise.

"So this God created man? Then this God was the start of everything?"

Henry duly noted that the other man had not closed the book, but was keeping the page open with his thumbs.

It seemed that he truly wanted to understand.

* * *

...I didn't capture the childish side of Walter very well, and I'm sorry. D:

OS


	9. Chapter 9

Short chapter is, oddly, very short. I just haven't had the time/drive to attempt updating this story.

Don't get me wrong, I will be continuing, but other things have just been getting in the way. Damn exams, work & camping trips.

This, Promise, Chase The Sun and my Repo! request are still very much on the cards, I just hope you can all be patient and bear with me.

Thank you for following these stories and leaving such kind reviews, it truly means a lot.

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Of course, that was all just another trick of Henry's wretched imagination.

It didn't take long for his new view on Walter to be well and truly shattered. Neither of them moved for a few seconds, with the blond staring lifelessly down at the page. He wasn't reading anymore, that was obvious, yet his gaze still remained on the dark words printed on the paper. Before the tension in the air grew far too high however, the man in the coat finally broke the silence.

"What are you trying to do?"

That question left the brunet at a distinct loss for words. He couldn't answer it, and he was well and truly confused. All he was aiming to do was rid this man from both his mind and this apartment in any way possible. Some part of him, deep down, had truly believed that God could have helped him dispell this phantom. It was then that the shorter man remembered exactly why he did not trust in talk of this creator of all, and his breath hitched in his throat. Apparently God worked in mysterious ways, and only helped those who could truly comprehend his existance. Henry was not one of those people, and never could be.

"What is this for?"

The second question sounded far more forceful, and drew Henry to keep his eyes solely on the blue-clad man infront of him. He merely watched as the older man strode over to him, swiping at his bloody neck with one hand, before thrusting the book heavily into the brunet's chest. He recoiled slightly, but attempted to keep himself upright. Even as a few splatters of blood ricocheted off the blond's other hand, Henry kept as still as some sort of mannequin. It was only his shaking hands that betrayed him.

This was the side of Walter that Henry found he knew all too well, and it would never stop scaring him senseless. Eileen was not there to bring some sort of calm to the situation, and the brunet just didn't know what to do. He was absolutely terrified, as if all the horrible things that had happened over the past from months had only just caught up with him. His mind was completely blank, which just caused more panic.

Once the leather-bound book had fallen roughly to the floor, a few of the fragile pages ripping from the binding, Walter spoke again. It was obvious that the blond had not expected any sort of definitive answer from Henry, and so just continued with what he had to say. For some reason, that was even more alarming. The brunet stopped himself from stooping over and gathering up the broken book which had once belonged to his parents, and just stared straight ahead at the taller man. What escaped his lips next was almost expected, but somehow still took Henry by surprise.

"You don't understand Reciever, the Holy Mother _is_ the God of all. She has let us become the creatures that we are today. You have been lied to, that book contains nothing but lies spun by non-believers."

As he spoke, Walter had started to paced across the room, towards the inescapable door. Despite his new-found fear, Henry couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as the other created a distance between the two of them. However, that relief was soon dissolved as the man turned back, a slight smile on those thin lips.

There some sort of sick plan forming in the murderer's head.

Suddenly, with a few heavy steps, the gap was once again closed, and Henry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The fear he felt was evidently expected, as all the the Sacraments who truly understood the severity of their situation had acted just as strangely. Cynthia was the only one who had managed to keep any sense of true normality, and it was at this time that the brunet found himself a little jealous of her mindset. She had died, yet there had been no real fear in her voice. It had been blamed on alcohol, on her mind acting oddly, and the brunet had not corrected her. Slipping away like that would have felt like some sort of perfect dream.

"It is not too late. You can learn to see the error of your ways. There is still time for you to make the right choice."

Walter's words went unheard, as Henry's attention moved to the rough hands gripping tightly onto his. All he could do was mouth that he wanted the other to let him go, his voice disappearing into a painful crackling sensation. Soon this reaction spread to his temples, causing his body to twitch almost uncontrollably. With that, the image of the blond reflected in his eyes became blurred, and started to fade.

"Henry?"

That was the last thing that the shorter man heard before his mind slipped into darkness once more. He was not sure who had said it, nor why, but what was about to greet him when he opened his eyes would surely push him right over the edge.

* * *

Bah.

OS


	10. Chapter 10

Finally, I had an idea. Phew. I was worried that I would never write this story again.

Thank you to the people who still read this story, it means a lot. Even if they sometimes annoy the heck out of me, these stories are like my typed children.

Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

It was the odd, rhythmic tapping that woke Henry from his slumber. The sound remained steady for the few seconds it took for the brunet's eyes to flutter open, before faltering and fading away into nothing. Even as his vision slowly blurred, before it managed to focus, the creator of the noise was still not apparent. However, that thought was roughly thrown to the back of his mind as his position became apparent. This wasn't the apartment block, real or otherwise. He had never been here before, yet something disgustingly familiar filled the air. The stench of blood, and the rust which forced its way onto his tongue, caused him to shut his eyes again rather hopefully.

A dream inside a dream. His brain was playing incredible tricks, and these were just warped memories. No, not memories, at least not _his_. This place was reminding him of something that he just didn't want to remember, and it was only the firm hand on his tense shoulder that brought him back to earth. Not that he wished to enter this world, whatever and wherever it was.

"Receiver, open your eyes."

Usually, Henry would have thoroughly ignored an order from this shadow of man, yet his eyes suddenly opened themselves again. Some hidden part of the brunet wanted to take a good look at his surroundings, instead of just remaining inside his own little bubble. _Why_ was the only question which ran through his head as he finally moved to a seated position, feeling almost too numb. The horrific pains that had been surging through his body had all disappeared, and been replaced with a feeling of absolute calm.

That was, until he finally realised exactly where he was. It wasn't the pews either side of him, with bound hymn books and ripped cushions laying across them which truly gave it away. No, it was the huge altar just a few meters ahead of where he and Sullivan were residing that caught his interest. Or rather, it was the sight which reached him as he looked upon the stone tablet.

Behind the various offerings of food and plants, which had rotted away into nothing, were three large cages. The metal had rusted and twisted, leaving the contraptions in almost impossible shapes. Although neither of the men spoke, it was obvious that the blond was also transfixed by the grotesque writhing shape, seemingly trying to escape its confines. There it was, the maker of the tapping noises, which had now escalated into the sound of bone crashing against thick metal.

Henry most certainly wouldn't have been human if he didn't try to enlarge the distance between himself and this _thing._ The way it moved in such a disturbing fashion proved to him that despite its almost human-like appearance, that creature was nothing like he and Walter. It was another one of those warped monsters which had been created by the one that they called Mother, their absolute deity.

"What the hell is that thing, Sullivan?" he finally managed to whisper, after losing his voice what could have been hours before. It still didn't sound right, like it was echoing inside his head, yet that was no longer important. If the brunet had been thinking straight, he would not have asked the blond such a question. For all he knew, Walter could have dragged him to this place on a whim, although the feeling he was getting from the man in the coat was forcing him to believe otherwise.

There was no reply, or any sort of retort, just the hand falling to his shoulder again. The killer's other hand moved forward, his finger outstretched. He was just pointing at the cage, where the creature was now slamming itself into the side like some sort of captive animal. It most certainly wanted to escape, that much was obvious, but the sudden realization as to why caused Henry's stomach to twist in protest.

The whole reasoning behind the familiarity of the place came all too fast. It was not the church itself which was spurring on memories, but that shape thrashing about in the cage. That thing was a terrifying version of the man himself, with only parts of his true self present in its horrific design.

"No.." was all that Henry could force from his shaking lips, as if this one word would turn all of this into some sort of bad joke. He was seeing things. Perhaps that creature had been a human being before all of this torment fell upon it, and this person had looked just a little like him. That had to be it. Even though he knew this was not the case, and Walter had said nothing to confirm this idea, the brunet did not want to believe in what he was seeing.

His twitching body found itself turning to face the man who was knelt so calmly behind him. The blonde's hand had retracted back to his side, and his positioning was not dissimilar to that of someone respecting the dead, or beginning to pray. Deep down, Henry had wished to see some sort of smile on the man's face, and for some helpful, or otherwise, knowledge to spout from between his thin lips.

However, the sight was not one which Henry had been expecting, and he found himself recoiling. His fingers gripped onto one of the wooden seats to his side and he yanked his limp body into a standing position. None of this was happening, it was all a dream. Everything. There was something in the air, he was hallucinating, anything. This was all a lie. The man in front of him wasn't Walter Sullivan, if it could still be called a man.

What Henry saw was not the Sullivan who had haunted his dreams for months, and had been the one to force him into unconsciousness. This was not the man who had tried to take his life. No, this was a very different man. The only similarities were his features, yet even those were hollowed out. The coat this Walter wore was stained with blood and ash, and his lengthy hair was covered in the same substances. There was no life in this being's eyes.

"Receiver, I told you to open your eyes." it rasped, using its arms to pull itself along the dirty ground. Not only was the voice box rotting away to nothing, but it looked as if it had lost control of most of its body. Henry tried to pull his body away from this whole situation, but travelling in any direction would have lead him straight towards one of these warped creatures. There was truly no escape, unless he could run to the door.

The door which wasn't even there. His eyes widened as his gaze fell upon a seamless wall, where one would have expected to find this holy place's entrance. Open his eyes? They were open and burning, yet everything still looked as terrifying as before. Before any sort of way out revealed itself to the brunet, hands clung onto his trouser legs. Even shaking them wouldn't rid the man from him, as long fingers were digging in desperately to the fabric.

"Please, listen to me. Do not believe in that which you see, or the noises which pollute your ears."

That voice was jarring, and sounded as if it was about to cut out at any moment. However, Henry found himself listening to the words. It did not make sense, but he tried to follow exactly what this man was telling him, what _Walter_ was telling him. So instead of flailing around aimlessly like his rotting counterpart in the rattling cage, the brunet just stayed deadly still, trying to ignore the sounds and sights around him.

A blank look passed across his features, his eyes starting to slowly glaze over as the church became almost invisible. The heavy hands on his shoulders were not met by tenseness, or anything of the sort. Henry was trying to detach himself from this horrific nightmare. Even as the weight on his shoulders increased as Walter pulled himself up, the brunet did not budge.

"I will see you when you awaken, Henry."

Once his name was uttered, strangely soft hands ran through his hair. The weight on his shoulders was lifted.

That voice was the same which had pulled him down into this Hell, and yet he slowly felt himself drifting back into some sort of well-needed slumber.

All thoughts of the demon Receiver were forgotten and sleep finally took over.

* * *

  
Henry's Otherworld? I think so.

OS.


	11. Chapter 11

The love I get for my three Silent Hill fanfictions is both terrifying and just down right amazing. I mean, how could I have expected so many fans? I'm so flattered, truly I am.

Thank you so much. This has all given me a great confidence boost as to my writing style and characterization.

Seriously, you guys rock.

* * *

His eyes stung, as if they had been forced open for a long period of time. Everything was some sort of dull blur, and even blinking didn't remedy that fact. Was he still in that strange dream? The pounding and rattling sounds of that caged creature were no longer echoing inside his skull, but that hand was still there. It moved gently through his hair, like that of a parent soothing a child to sleep. Once, twice,it moved, before his own shaking hand reached up to remove it. The skin it came in contact with was both cold and comforting at the same time, which caused odd signals to run up his spine.

Needless to say, Henry soon let go of the offending limb and moved his arm back down to his side. It was with that motion that he finally realized exactly where he was positioned. The smooth cloth below him told him that he lying on his own bed, in his apartment. He did not need to see clearly to know exactly who the blue-clad figure to his right was. So that hand which was running so delicately through his dark hair belonged to the man who had awakened him from that nightmare. Walter Sullivan. Once again, the brunet found his stomach churning at the thought.

"Good morning, Receiver."

Instead of giving a reply, Henry just turned over to face the window. Everything was slowly coming into focus, which made the light shining through from the window all the more painful. However, in his mind, he knew he would much rather face the burning sensation in his eyes than talk to the madman. That was a no-brainer. Even if the other sounded happy to see him awake, the brunet certainly wasn't amused that Walter was the first person he saw. All that he wished to do was escape this prison of an apartment and apologize to Eileen.

This was all in his head, even if he tried to prove otherwise. No one else could see this ghost of his past, not even the woman who had survived the man's attack. It was pathetic that he just couldn't let his experiences go. That was the reason why Walter was back, right? Unless this was all part of the killer's ghostly vengeance. Henry didn't know, or really care, as he just wanted the blond to disappear for good. This was no longer selfishness, it was just the wish to be left alone.

"Receiver?"

Again, Henry just ignored what the man had to say. Even as he felt the other shift on the bed, moving to kneel next to him, he refused to answer. This was no longer because of his pure hatred, but because of a mark of the wall which had caught his attention. Many would have seen that as absent-mindedness, yet the brunet was thoroughly intrigued. Despite having lived in Room 302 for months, that large crack running along the bedroom wall had never grabbed his interest in such a way. He was mulling over how it had come to be, all part of his attempt to push the presence of Walter to the back of his mind, when a large chunk of plaster slipped down onto the desk.

That resounding crash was enough to remove Henry from his stupor, and force him to turn and sit up. The closeness between the murderer and himself was both unwanted and awkward, and Henry found himself trying to get off the bed. His useless actions then brought the reality of the situation to light, and he found himself at a loss for words. There was no need to try and blink that odd blurred vision away anymore, as it would get him nowhere.

The whole of the room was filled with some sort of thick fog, not unlike that found at the aftermath of a fire. With no words to describe his confusion, Henry just glanced across at Walter, silently begging for any type of explanation. His first thought was that while he had been sleeping, one of the nearby rooms had caught fire. Of course, the only inhabited room near his was the one in which Eileen resided. However, no reply came, as the brunet noted the blond staring straight at the growing break in the wall.

Henry could do nothing but follow his gaze, hoping that something would finally give him some sort of sign. The longer the two of them stared, the more it seemed that the fog itself was spilling from this odd crack in the wall. Common knowledge would have told him that something like was impossible, but Henry no longer believed or trusted in what people said to be true. They said that monsters did not exist in any other form than mutated creatures. How wrong they were.

It should have been the unearthly silence filling the room that alerted Henry that there was something very wrong. However, it was the fact that Walter had suddenly grabbed onto the front of his flimsy shirt. If this had been any other time, or any other situation, the brunet would have struggled and tried to attack the other. No cursing or kicking came however, as he just let the other lean closer. So close, in fact, that long strands of blond hair were falling over the shorter man's face.

From what the brunet could tell, the light outside was slowly fading into nothingness. That was alarming in itself, as every single segment of his body was telling him that it was early morning. Although,what turned the scenario into something far more sinister was Sullivan uttering what could only be described as a long prayer,as he clung on tightly to Henry's tense frame. For a man who had been so calm only moments earlier, it seemed that the killer's feelings had switched in an instant.

"Sullivan, what's going on?" he hissed, sounding far more irritated than he had anticipated. This was all becoming too much. Without any explanation, he was merely going off whatever emotions the killer was exuding. He was scared for reasons he couldn't even comprehend. When he received no answer other than another long string of mumbled prayer, Henry finally pushed the other away.

"Tell me what is going on!" he barked, only to find himself grasping at thin air. Instead of finding himself hanging onto the rough fabric of the killer's coat, his hands found themselves oddly empty. Not only that, but his sudden change in gaze found him staring down at the other side of the bed. The side of the bed on which Sullivan himself was sleeping, seemingly rather deeply. If this wasn't an hallucination then who had been hanging onto him so tightly, and where was that blinding fog?

This series of events was enough to turn someone thoroughly insane.

"Oh, Receiver, you're awake." the familiar deep voice stated, as the blond shifted into a seated position. This made Henry's brow crease into his familiar bemused expression,as he attempted to search for the words.

There were none.

* * *

Well, the story is called 'Endless Dream', so we need nightmares, no?

Plus, people wanted this to get more weird for Henry, so here we go.

Incase you haven't guessed, much like Silent Hill 1, it keeps switching between the Otherworld and normal world. However, for there is no siren to alert him.

Basically, poor Henry's dreams are all messed up and they all involve 'different Walters'.

OS.  
x


End file.
